State of Emergency
by Zenhachirou
Summary: Not your typical fanfic. A tale about two RPD snipers during the
1. State of Emergency- Chapter 1

Sirens shrieked through the hallowed streets like so many crying children. The red and blue cascaded around the buildings in frightful patterns as the cruisers careened towards their destination. Alan's hands were sweaty as he clenched his submachine gun tight. The safety was on, but he knew it would soon be off. The rioting was too much to handle already. People had died. It was time for the RPD to make a move.  
  
He looked around the back of the van, across to Sgt. Arbour. The good Sergeant's chin was dotted with graying stubble, a grim expression of foreboding on his face. He peered at Alan through his dark sunglasses. Alan knew he was old, at least 25 years in the RPD service. Head of the S.W.A.T. sniper group and the best shot in Raccoon. At least, at the range.  
  
Alan was the spotter - the second half of a two-man sniper team. He watched the sniper's back, scoped out targets, and gave him essential information on distance, wind, and threat recognition. Arbour would be all but useless without his help.  
  
Alan heard the voice crackle over his headset. "Westbound on 22nd avenue, towards Raccoon Hospital intersection. ETA is one minute."  
  
The back of the van was dim. Alan could barely discern his comrades. Goosebumps broke on his flesh, a deep tingling sensation. Maybe it was the chill of the van, or the adrenaline of pending combat.  
  
The foremost RPD cruisers, including S.T.A.R.S. unit 184, swerved up to the middle of the street and formed an angled roadblock. The vans of S.W.A.T. followed, officers jumping out from the back even as it came to a complete stop.  
  
"Go!" The officer at the doors pushed them open and more officers jumped out. All were armed to the teeth, and they knew the gravity of the situation. The… "rioters" had to be stopped, with either a show of force, or a bullet to the head.  
  
Sgt. Arbour was out and running before Alan could stand, rifle in hand. "Haul ass, Constable!!" As Alan hustled out, the looked towards the foremost RPD units, stepping out of their cars and facing the mob sternly. Each of the RPD had a weapon, and Alan prayed they had the guts to use them. Arbour hurled himself towards the apartment building across the street. Many of the civilians around had locked themselves into their homes, sitting in the corner with a ba, Alan assumed.  
  
The doors were pushed aside and Arbour moved straight for the express stairs at the end of the dark hallway, Alan on his heels. They clambered up the musty staircase as fast as they could, heading for the roof. Alan's heart hammered in his chest, pounding in his head. His MP510A2 would soon become his best friend.  
  
The weapon was sleek, like a greyhound. 10mm, specially chambered rounds, a subgun developed by Heckler + Koch for those who needed a little extra bang for their buck. It had been ordered by him as soon as he had made the sniper unit of the RPD. It packed thirty rounds of hollowpoint 10mm rounds, and a tightly set tritium-illuminated telescopic sight for low-light targeting, calibrated for maximum target engagement distance 65 yards.  
  
They reached the top of the stairs together, pushing the door open and running to the side. Arbour rested his bipod on the cement rail, looking out over the mob.  
  
"I can see them… they're coming this way…"  
  
"Hold your fire. Don't shoot until I say."  
  
"Where- where did they all come from?"  
  
"Keep it together!!"  
  
Alan closed his left eye and peered through his scope, surveying the area. There were news crews, ambulances sweeping past, fire trucks… a city-wide emergency. He could see flames in the distance, burning cars… many accidents had been reported since the evening, not to mention the prowlers, lost contact with patrolling officers, murders, attacks in the streets. The smell was unlike anything he'd smelled before… of sweat, blood, smoke, all at the same time. It had infested him, his clothes, and everything around him. He wasn't even sure he was alive anymore, the smell was so unearthly.  
  
Down the street, Alan could see them. The mob. Most of them walked almost drunkenly swaying limbs and looking around. Alan couldn't pick out faces, but many of them bore distinctive bloodstains on their clothes. "What do you make of it, Constable? What are they on?" Arbour hissed from behind his rifle.  
  
"I… don't know… some new hallucinogen or mentally-altering drug… hopped up after a rave, or… but this is the result of that cannibal disease thing, right?"  
  
"You think they're all infected, huh?" Arbour was steady, in voice and body, unbelievably. Alan prayed Arbour's iron constitution would hold up if the shooting started. "I don't buy it," Arbour paused for a moment, "Don't just sit there, give me some readings!"  
  
"Uhh… winds coming from the northwest, about 6 miles. Looks like the closest target is about 100 yards away… about 12 degrees down." Alan continued searching, and found something he had been looking for since he had set up - bodies. "Sergeant, we got bodies. Two of them, laying in the middle of the street. They're surrounded by the mob… check up a few degrees, to the left side."  
  
"Shit…" Arbour tipped his headset mike to his lips. "We got bodies. Two of them." The reply was muffled by the earphone. "No, can't see any weapons. Yet."  
  
A few seconds later, there was a call out over the megaphone. "Lay down, hands on top of your heads! All of you!"  
  
The crowd did not respond.  
  
"If you do not comply, we will resort to more forceful measures. Stop your advance."  
  
They kept coming. Alan couldn't see the end of them, the street stretched on, and the streetlights highlights groups of them every twenty feet or so. "What the hell is going on?" Alan whispered to himself. The mod was 75 yards away now. Arbour bristled behind his rifle. "Target."  
  
That meant he had one in his sights. "I'm tracking him, I won't trap him yet." That meant he would follow the man's advance, but not shoot until the order was giving. "Trapping" was a tactic used by snipers when hitting a moving target. The sniper would set his crosshairs a few meters ahead of the target, and when the target moved into his scope, he would fire.  
  
The mob was 65 yards away now. Alan rested his 10A2 on his forearm and put his crosshairs towards the crowd.  
  
"Gas 'em!"  
  
There was a shoonk as the canisters of tear gas flew from the launchers and rattled to the streets, spewing fumes into the air. It engulfed the crowd in furious clouds of white, completely obscuring them.  
  
That's when Alan began to hear the moaning. Not the sounds of humans in pain, no… the sound was too guttural, too throaty, too animal. It reminded Alan or old horror movies, a monstrous entity only crafted in twisted minds. Alan was too hesitant to even think it's name.  
  
Standard police operation called for strict fire discipline unless there was somebody in immediate physical danger. The bodies had pretty much sealed that for Alan, but the word would have to come from the leader.  
  
Abruptly, a paunchy man in a white apron and red shirt came flying out his shop door and into the street. Civilian, no visible threat -  
  
"You! Freeze!!"  
  
The man turned to face the RPD - and the rioters came stumbling out from behind the smokescreen, arms grasping and mouths working. One tackled him to the the asphalt, holding him down, and -  
  
"What the fuck?! He's eating him!" One of the RPD shouted. The man began to shriek, a chilling yell of fear and pain. Others of the mob fell on him, blocking the RPD's view.  
  
"The gas had no effect!!"  
  
"My God, what are they doing to him?!"  
  
"Fire! Now!"  
  
"They have no weapons - "  
  
"They're killing that man! FIRE!!"  
  
The first bullet to fly was Sgt. Arbour's. The 7.62mm FMJ sliced through the air and into the upper cranium of one of the mob, dropping him to the road. Blood sprayed from the wound as the man squirmed for a moment, then stopped. A hail of gunfire spattered the mob with rounds, taking them down in twos, threes, fours. The officers continued the firing into the mob, a brutal display of what would normally be termed a horrid act of misjustice. They didn't even have weapons… and yet, they saw them kill a man right there, in front of them.  
  
Alan flicked his selector to single-shot and started lining up his crosshairs on one of them. His fingers felt alien, as if they weren't moving of his own accord. The trigger was pulled, and the 10mm shot whistled through the air and wetly smacked into the throat of one of the mob. Alan watched him fall as the round cut a chunk out of his throat, twitching, his mouth opening and gasping at the air. His crosshairs remained upon the body as it convulsed, watching. The man turned over, and pushed himself up.  
  
"What the - how could he be alive?"  
  
Arbour turned to face Alan. "What?!"  
  
"I shot one right in the throat, and he's getting back up!!"  
  
"My God, they are… I hit one in the heart, and he was down… right there! Where did he go?!" Arbour reached for his mike. "We got a problem here, boys. They aren't staying down. Coked out of their minds…"  
  
Alan's radio crackled. "Damn it, we know that. What the hell is going on?!"  
  
The mob was, now, 15 yards away. The officers started to panic. The firing became frantic bursts, many of them scrambling to reload. The mob inched closer and closer, all the while taking hits and standing back up. Alan's mind raced. How could they be walking, much less alive? What was happening? What would happen?  
  
"We have to withdraw!!" Alan broke into a fierce sweat.  
  
"Stand your fucking ground, Constable! We can't leave our comrades out here!" Arbour yelled.  
  
"They have to escape, too! We can't win this way!"  
  
The mob had reached the first of the cruisers. There were screams, long and loud. Alan watched in utter panic as his companions were enveloped in the mass of people. Several of the police turned to run away, trying to get into their cars. Alan heard the yells, the sheer terror of his friends as they were attacked. He saw one of them, bent backwards over a car, firing wildly into the air and they held him down and… bit him. They were eating them, like mindless animals. Blood was spattered across the hood of the S.T.A.R.S. car as they mangled one of the officers, his hands clutching and scraping for something, anything, to fight them off with.  
  
The officers began to run. They turned and sprinted away, away from the… the zombies, the death, the smell. They slid over the hoods of cars in their escape, but they were locked in. Behind them, and to the side, there were more coming. The intersection was a three-way, and there were zombies coming at them from all directions.  
  
"Oh, no…" The first of them gasped, understanding that their time had come. The mobs closed in as the RPD fought for their lives, shrieking, firing, running. They were locked in, and nobody could save them. The zombies pushed onward as the RPD backed against the walls, fumbling with their weapons.  
  
"Get them away! No!"  
  
"We - we can't run, there's nowhere to - " And then, the screeching like nothing Alan had heard before. The sound of men being torn, mauled alive. Alan and Sgt. Arbour had a bird's eye view of the whole thing. The news teams were murdered, ambulance crews shredded, firemen much the same…  
  
... 


	2. State of Emergency- Chapter 2

and all they could do was watch. Alan eyed Arbour as he turned his radio and pulled his gun away. "There's nothing we can do now."  
  
"What? We have to - !!" Alan sputtered.  
  
"Well? You got any ideas then, Constable?! How are we going to help them?" Arbour was right in saying it. The screams had died and warped into the barely audible moans of the undead as they...  
  
Alan cut out the thought before he could finish it.  
  
"What the fuck are you talking about? You said we had to stand our fucking ground!" Alan hugged the ground, hiding his head from view of the street.  
  
"Well, this shit's changed, hasn't it? We won't even make it out of this building alive!" Arbour slammed the butt of his rifle into the ground. "Check the radio! Scan both channels! I wouldn't be surprised if we're the only RPD left in this fuckin' city..."  
  
Alan checked into his headset. "This is badge number Two-Thirty-Four, Constable... oh, fuck it, this is Alan. I need a report."  
  
No response. He checked the second channel, no response. He flicked between channels four times, the same message each time.  
  
"Al... Alan.." A faint reply.  
  
"What? Who is this?!" Alan sat up abruptly, signaling for Arbour to switch into his radio. Arbour tapped in immediately.  
  
"It's Roger, man."  
  
"Roger? Oh, shit, where are you? How did you survive?"  
  
"I... unggh!! I was part of the team that tried to roadblock the front of the East Precinct Station ... we got mobbed, most of us didn't make it. The rest... made it inside. Me and Vern, we got split from the group, got cornered... but we made it... skipped some alleys, found a hideout... but there was someone else."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Some commando team, or something... came through, shot Vern dead, and hit me, right through the chest... aaaghh!!"  
  
"Who?"  
  
"I don't know, man... but I'm not going to make it, that's for sure. If it's not these fuckin' things that get you, it'll be them..."  
  
"Where are you?"  
  
"In the park, near the clock tower." Alan recognized the location in his mind... only a block or two away. "Please, don't waste your time. You have to escape. Get out."  
  
"I can't leave. There's too many here to abandon my-"  
  
"Don't you understand? We're all dead! Corpses! There's nothing you can do now, except run... communications with the outside have been cut..."  
  
"What? Shit... did these commandos do it? How did they cut them?"  
  
"I don't know... phones don't work, most of the radios are jammed to shit... but whatever they're here for, they seem to be pretty anxious to keep people here."  
  
"I'm coming to get you."  
  
"You can't... you have to get as far away from this place as you can. Especially here. You have to avoid this place, or they'll kill you. This part is theirs. Run. Do you... hear me?! Run!!"  
  
"Stay there! I'll come and get you, we'll get the fuck out of here..."  
  
"I'm already dead, man. I can feel it, Alan. It must be what... they feel. The itch... the hunger. I don't know what it is, but I can taste it in my own blood. The hunger... I can't let it happen. I'll end it now, with this..."  
  
"Roger, no - "  
  
"Run. Run away, Alan! Run!!"  
  
The sound of a gunshot rang through the earphones. Alan closed his eyes.  
  
"Roger?!"  
  
"He's dead." Arbour tuned his radio out, a bleak expression on his face. His constitution seemed just a little closer to breaking.  
  
"Fuck..." Alan shook his head.  
  
"He said he was... shot. By someone. Who the hell..." Arbour puzzled over it for a moment.  
  
"I think we should get out of the open." Alan checked the street nervously. He could see so many bodies, almost all of them RPD. The undead treaded the streets freely... pushing on doorways, hitting windows, looking for some way to satisfy their hunger.  
  
Arbour stood and slung his rifle around his shoulder, pulling his sidearm from his holster. A Glock 19, 9mm, RPD special issue for the sniper team, with an attached flashlight unit. The snipers were granted these weapons in response to their request for fitting tools for slightly more specialized operations. He moved to the door, slowly edging it open with his hip. The door heralded the inner sounds of the apartment, and they chilled Alan once more. Yells. Of panic.  
  
Alan cursed and shouldered his 10A2, moving through the door first and covering the stairs as Arbour stood beside the door to the highest floor, the fourth. They moved down the stairs until they reached the second floor.  
  
"Ready?" Arbour nodded, then slammed the door open with a fierce kick. It flew to the side and Alan moved in, covering the long hallway.  
  
Behind him, Arbour grunted in shock. Alan pivoted on his foot, seeing Arbour try to get a grasping zombie off of his leg. He kicked the clutching hand away and firmly stepped on the zombie's cranium, giving a slight crack, and then he quickly popped off a shot into his head. The zombie abruptly stopped moving. Arbour cursed.  
  
"There's a bunch of them, crawling up the stairs! Run!"  
  
"Where?!"  
  
"These people won't let us in, we'll have to get to the upper floors!"  
  
"Back up the stairs?!"  
  
"Just fuckin' run!!" Arbour leapt up the stairs in huge bounds, trying to get to the fourth floor. The groans of zombies echoed up the staircase, only making them run faster.  
  
More screams bounced around them as they ascended, heading for the fourth floor. There had to be a fire escape somewhere, or they'd be trapped. Arbour forced open the door from the stairs and burst into the hallway, looking frantically from door to door. Alan bolted out of the stairwell and slammed the door shut.  
  
The hallway was F-shaped, at the corner was a window, and then a long hallway stretching the length of the building, with another smaller hall towards the elevator.  
  
"Where do we go?"  
  
"I... I don't know.." Arbour started testing doors, seeing if any were unlocked. He didn't care what was inside, as long as they weren't outside.  
  
The handles of all the doors rattled, but none gave way. Locked. "Fuck this!!" Arbour cursed, turning to the nearest door and putting his foot straight into it, breaking the door at the frame and throwing it to the side. Alan covered the hallway, then ducked inside close behind Arbour. The apartment must have been used recently, there were dishes in the sink, a cup on the table... Arbour reached forward and tested the side of the cup.  
  
"It's still warm..."  
  
"Must have bailed the hell out of this place..."  
  
"Well, they probably aren't doing any better now." Arbour looked out the window at the destruction in the streets. Flaming cars, bodies, broken doors, buses... and the zombies, stumbling about in their hungry stupor. The apartment itself was somewhat bare, as if the tenant had only been around for a short time. But it really didn't matter now. They were probably dead.  
  
Arbour peeked his head out of the window and a smile grew on his hardened face. The smile looked alien to Alan, he had never seen Arbour make an expression like that in his life. Arbour had always been the rough, don't- take-any-shit-from-anybody type, and he had played the part out to perfection. Alan was relieved to see at least SOME expression on the Sergeant's face...  
  
"A fire escape!" A series of metal platforms and ladders weaved down the side of the building and to the streets, into an alley. Just what they needed.  
  
"But... where can we go from here?" Alan looked out the window at the streets, with a sense of dark foreboding.  
  
"I don't know, Constable... you got any ideas?"  
  
  
  
An image flashed inside Alan's head, of a young woman. She had long, dark hair, green eyes... he could put a name to the face, and a little more. "Mara..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"My wife... I have to find my wife."  
  
Arbour stepped towards Alan, "What did you say? Your wife?! Christ, is she out there? Where is she?"  
  
"I... don't know! I told her to stay home tonight, since we had all these weird reports coming in from the suburbs..."  
  
"Where do you live?"  
  
"Twenty miles west... we live in West Valley."  
  
"Shit..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Listen." Arbour hushed his voice, and Alan tuned his ears. He could still hear the yelps of the civilians as they scrambled for safety in the lower levels, but there was a new sound coming from above. Chopper blades.  
  
"A helicopter? What the fuck...?" 


	3. State of Emergency- Chapter 3

"Maybe it's a backup unit or something. We can get airlifted out. Let's get to the roof, it's our only chance." Arbour dashed from the room and Alan followed, half dazed.  
  
The rotor blades slashed the air above and the winds cast papers and dust into a ferocious torrent. On the roof, the pilot of the chopper signaled that the Umbrella operatives could make their way out, fast-roping to the roof and quickly drawing weapons. Their fatigues were dull green, with black vests, and Umbrella patches on the shoulder.  
  
The team leader moved to the door of the roof and his team moved up behind him. "Breach!!"  
  
One of the team came up and quickly kicked the door open. His foot connected with the handle and smashed the door to the side, tumbling it down the stairs. They moved in.  
  
"Two and three, cover the roof while we move down." The leader ordered, holding his MP5A4 close to his chest and moving down the stairs.  
  
Alan pushed the door to the stairwell open once more, and looked up. He could see several men in some kind of combat fatigues, wielding weapons and moving down the stairs. Alan raised his own MP5 and challenged the team, either out of fear or instinct. They had guns and they didn't have RPD uniform. Fair game.  
  
"Freeze!"  
  
The leader looked down and spotted the messy-haired blond man, holding some MP5 model. He raised his MP5 and laid out a 3 round burst, hitting the wall beside the man as he ducked inside the hallway again. "Fuck!!"  
  
"What was that?!" Arbour shouted as Alan dove inside, bullets chipping the door frame.  
  
"They're coming!! Get ready!"  
  
The Umbrella team leader moved down the stairs like a hunter, his weapon up and ready. He hugged the side of the wall, waiting for his team. "Frag!!" He called, pulling a fragmentation grenade from his vest and pulling the pin. He lobbed it inside the hall.  
  
Arbour saw the frag bounce across the floor only a few meters away. They had, maybe, 2 seconds before they were sliced to shreds by debris?  
  
"Duck inside!" Arbour stood, using all his strength to yank Alan inside the room with the busted door. Alan couldn't believe it... Arbour picked him up off of the floor and almost threw him inside, like it was nothing... incredible power...  
  
The frag blew, scattering fragmentation across the hall. It shredded the first four doors of the hall in a matter of milliseconds, and the Umbrella team leader followed up with no time to lose. The team ducked inside the hallway and scanned from room to room, knowing the RPD they had seen must have ducked for cover. He couldn't let them live, they had orders to make sure that nobody escaped alive. The corporation had already made sure nobody would make it outside of the city limits, and that nobody would be able to call for help. Phone lines had been disabled, the radio frequencies had been jammed, and all communications lines had been severed. The city was isolated.  
  
The corporation had done so by declaring a city-wide quarantine. There had been an outbreak of a dangerous virus, the city had to be kept under close observation. Lives were at stake, they said... they had gathered most of the civilians in quarantine labs and were trying to figure out how to contain the virus. At least, that's what they had told the government to say. Of course, the government, be it the more higher-ups of the federal system, had cleaned up the situation nicely for them... roadblocks had been set within the city limits, not allowing anyone to pass. Anyone trying to would be shot. The government owed Umbrella a few favors, to say the least, so they had agreed to keep the situation as low-key as they could. A false quarantine while Umbrella figured out how to cover it up was the easiest method...  
  
But now was not the time to fiddle around with the details. They had a job to do.  
  
"Three, four! Move up, check these rooms!" Operators 3 and 4 obliged willingly, moving past and scouting the rooms slowly and cautiously. As 4 peeked into one of the rooms, MP5 ready, there was a shot, and 4 dropped. The 10mm round shattered the foremost section of his cranium, spattering blood across the wall behind him.  
  
"Hold up!!" The team leader held a hand up, hugging the wall beside the door. "Fuck..." 4 was dead, no doubt about it. The round had torn his skull clean open, blood soaking the cheap carpet.  
  
"Frag!!"  
  
"Shit!!" Alan heard the warning and ducked inside the hall closet, Arbour moving to the wall that blocked the kitchen from the hall. The frag bounced down the hall and blew, completely laying waste to the room. The table lay broken in half by the metal shards, and the walls were dotted with holes. The team checked inside the room, peering through the dust.  
  
"Flash!" Arbour shouted, hugging the wall and tossing a return Number 25 distraction device, a flashbang concussion grenade, down the hall at the approaching Umbrella operatives. "Alan, cover your eyes and ears, NOW!!"  
  
"Shit!!" The flashbang detonated, producing over 150 decibels of sound, enough to permanently damage eardrums at close enough range, and over 2 million candela of light. The flash lasted for 9 milliseconds and faded. "Fuck, my ears!!!"  
  
Alan kicked the door of the closet away and stepped out into the hall. The flashbang had detonated right in the center of their formation, behind the coming operatives and in the hall. The concussion had knocked two of them in the hall to the floor, and the one coming down the hall was leaning against the wall, dropping his gun and holding his ears.  
  
Alan bolted down the hall and rammed the polymer stock of his MP510A2 into the nose of the commando, breaking the connection of bone to cartilage and spewing blood into the air. The man cursed and fell backwards as Alan stepped over his squirming body. Alan stopped beside the body and gave him a brutal foot to the side of his head, stemming his cries for a moment. Arbour came down beside Alan, holding his Glock.  
  
"Nicely done, let's get the fuck out of here!" Alan jumped into the hall, moving past the bodies of the two operators. There were several more, down the hall, but they had only been partly affected by the flashbang. They returned fire.  
  
Bullets sliced away the plaster as the Umbrella team fired down the hall. Alan rolled to the side and clicked off a five round burst, two of the five rounds striking one of the men in the chest. He flew backwards as the hollowpoints punched into his vest, hitting his head on the wall and slumping to the floor.  
  
Arbour ducked out of the door and ran for the corner, plugging off a few shots but hitting nothing. Alan managed to get away with only a few grazes, giving one of the stunned Umbrella operatives a hard knee to the head as he stood. As the one closest to the door stood and turned to fire, Arbour put one 9mm hollowpoint into his throat. The man gurgled and fell to his knees, spitting blood and twitching in a frightening manner.  
  
Alan hugged the corner and peered around as the Umbrella group fired, Arbour rolling behind the corner a few seconds later.  
  
"Who are they?"  
  
"They must be the commandos Roger was talking about... we have to go."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"To the elevator!! Run!"  
  
"We won't make it through, there's too many zombies-"  
  
"We can do it, let's just move out!" Arbour stood and sprinted for the elevator, Alan following suit.  
  
The Umbrella team leader, One, stepped out from behind the doorway he used to prevent himself from taking the full flashbang effect, and cursed. "Let's go!!"  
  
"We took casualties, those fucking sons of bitches..." Number 8 checked 7's pulse and came up with nothing. The rounds had punched straight into his heart. 1 knew that number 4 and number 9, who had taken a hollowpoint to the gullet, were dead, and number 6 whad taken that kick to the face... he would be of no use further. One made sure a bullet was in his head, just to keep him silent, and they kept moving. Out of ten team members, four of them were already dead... fuck!  
  
The RPD who had done it would be dead in due time. One would see to it. 


	4. State of Emergency- Chapter 4

Arbour covered the hallway as Alan pushed the elevator buttons in a scramble. They had the luck of not having to wait for the elevator, but neither of them knew how long it would be until the soldiers caught up.  
  
How many of them had there been? Alan had seen at least eight, and there had to be more. Three questions pounded in his head; who were they, why were they carrying firepower like that, and why did they try to kill them?  
  
The elevator doors hummed shut, sealing Sgt. Arbour and Alan in. At least, to a degree of safety. The elevator began to slide down the rails to the ground floor.  
  
Arbour let his sidearm slip into his hip holster and breathed a sigh of relief. He kept as close to the side as he could, making sure nothing coming through the door could hit him. Alan hooked his 10A2 on to the front of his load-bearing Spectra-fiber vest, using the rings hanging from the front. It was a simple, often-used method of keeping a weapon close at hand while not letting any protruding parts of the gun snag on clothing or obstacles.  
  
They had merely a minute to catch their breath. The elevator hit the floor 1 mark and beeped. Arbour halted the opening of the doors with the button. His face was haggard, his eyes rimmed with deep shadows. "Are you ready?"  
  
Alan unhooked his 10A2, shouldering it and letting his finger stroke the trigger guard. He nodded an affirmation. Arbour put his ear to the door. "There must be at least... Jesus, 10 of them out there... we'll have to break their formation, and run. Don't shoot, just run. Got that?"  
  
"Yes..."  
  
"Go!" Arbour hit the button and the doors slid open, revealing a gruesome display. There were at least twenty of them staggering about like teenagers on an OD of acid. Several more were laying hunched over twitching bodies. The carpet was stained, etched with gore. Alan shivered, if only for a moment, then raced for his life.  
  
Alan only glimpsed a few of their faces before he struggled for the door out of absolute terror. A woman stepped in front of Alan and he rushed past, arms outstretched. Her eyes were stained with blood, her teeth yellowed with bile, or some other vile substance she had coughed up. Her cheek was raw with a sore the size of Alan's palm. Her flesh seemed to be just hanging off of her bones, like a shroud.  
  
But the smell was the worst. Her breath, her odor washed over him, and he gagged in the stench, pausing for a moment. Arbour yanked him towards the door by his vest.  
  
"Don't stop, Constable!!"  
  
The zombie mass behind them groaned horridly, several turning to pursue. But Alan and the Sgt. had already pushed the front doors wide and gone into the bloody streets.  
  
Arbour leapt for the nearest police cruiser, yanking the driver's door open and fumbling for the keys. "Constable!! Get in!"  
  
Endless mobs of the undead walked the streets around them. So many of them began to close in in them as Alan dove for the RPD unit. He slid over the hood and climbed into the passenger seat as Arbour gunned the engine.  
  
"Yes!!" Arbour grinned, stepping on the gas.  
  
Sparks flew from the hood as bullets tore into the metal and tracked across the side of the car. The front left tire hissed as air spewed outwards, a 9mm puncturing it cleanly. The car shifted on to the punched tire and tipped over. "Shit..." Arbour cussed in a tone of blatant conviction.  
  
Alan pushed his door open once more and threw himself to the sidewalk. "Sergeant!!"  
  
Arbour squeezed over the seat, laying low as more gunfire raked the vehicle. Glass shattered. Alan looked to the alley in front of them, wondering where they would end up if they made a run for it.  
  
"Unnhh!!" Alan felt cold hands on his arm. His gaze flicked to the side and he recoiled almost as fast. A bloody-toothed zombie with a shag of gray hair and a torn shirt, drooling hungrily as it grasped at him.  
  
"Fuck!!" Alan pulled his hand back and crawled away as fast as he could, putting a foot in it's forehead. There were more of them, Alan could see them coming. There were more gunshots hailing from somewhere behind them, but Alan could hear that they were aimed at the mobs of the undead, attacking the team.  
  
In the midst of the panic, Alan caught a brainstorm. "Sergeant!! The train station!"  
  
"What?!"  
  
"The subway! We can get to the subway and make our way down the tunnels! Maybe we can hijack a train, or something..."  
  
Arbour had no time to make the decision. "It's probably our only chance! Let's move!!"  
  
The subway station was only half a block away. If they cut through this alley in front of them, they might be able to track their way through the station, underground...  
  
Number One cursed as he pulled the trigger on his MP5, throwing a three- round burst into it's face. The grisly visage of the carrier caved in as the rounds bore into the skull and flesh, spitting blood from entry and exit wounds. He watched in vain as the RPD bastards  
  
squeaked off into the alley. Unable to reach them, the team had been swarmed as they crossed through the lobby of the building. The danger was minimal, however. The UBCF could fight off the carrier's advances, but they had to get out of the open as fast as possible. There were more than human virus carriers in the city... One was somewhat anxious to avoid them.  
  
Number Eight shouted from the sidewalk ahead, firing his weapon into a crowd of carriers. "One!! Should we pursue them?"  
  
One put a boot heel into a crawling host's head, crushing it's head as it tried to stand. "We have a job to do, Eight. Most of the people in this city will be dead within twenty-four hours, but we still need to observe the situation and make sure nobody gets in  
  
or out."  
  
"If these guys managed to make it past that roadblock situation, how can we guarantee they won't escape the city? Is it a chance we can take?" Eight had to spit his words out as fast as possible, they couldn't sit and chat in the middle of an infested street.  
  
One stressed over it, not sure what to do. Umbrella had no shortage of mercenary, gun-toting manpower, but they couldn't be putting operatives into the hotzone every ten minutes. They had to monitor the carriers, observe behavioral features, physical effects in the environment... but it was a chance they couldn't take. "We'll follow. We need to  
  
contact the mobile HQ and give them our status... but that can wait. Move!!" One and his team charged to the other side of the street and into the musty alleyway. Gunshots ricocheted off of bricks and sidewalk as the UBCF put in their last shots and went into pursuit once more.  
  
Alan barred the zombie across the chest with the flat of his MP510A2 and kicked low, his foot connecting with the decomposed sinew of it's knee. The knee broke, it was certain. But the thing was unfazed, it's hands always clenching, rapacious for warm, living flesh. They were mindless, all of them. How did the city become this cesspool of psychotic monsters that used to be human?  
  
They had made their way through the alley and into the street ahead, running for the subway station. They could see the white lights of the station leaking out into the night air, like a beacon to safety. The entrance led straight into the tunnels, all you had to  
  
do was go down a few flights of stairs, past the ticket office, and then you'd be right at the boarding platform.  
  
If they could make it that far. 


	5. State of Emergency- Chapter 5

Arbour stood adamantly, a few feet to Alan's left, firing his Glock. A zombie on the sidewalk, staggering towards them, took a 9mm in the forehead and dropped, spasming.  
  
"Sergeant! We're close!" Alan dove past a burning van and the shuddering undead, towards the corner of the block, and the entrance of the subway that it heralded. Arbour followed within seconds.  
  
Alan jumped down the stairs in huge bounds, throwing caution to the wind. Arbour was a little more professional in his descent, covering the visible areas with his drawn Glock, advancing slowly.  
  
"Constable, slow down! Approach carefully!" Arbour barked.  
  
"We have to get away from the surface-"  
  
"What makes you think we'll be safer down here?"  
  
Alan didn't answer, but he heeded the sergeant's advice, shouldering his 10A2 steadily and checking his respective zone. They clomped down the stairs and approached the plexiglassed ticket office window, searching. Papers were scattered about inside, as if someone had booked it in the middle of some accounting work.  
  
"Oh, Christ..." Arbour, checking around the corner of the office and looking in, shrank back from the window and reached for his hip holster. Abruptly, the lights above flickered, spat sparks, and dimmed.  
  
"What? Sergeant, are you all right?!" Alan reached for his own Glock. His MP510A2 wasn't flashlight equipped, and he needed to preserve his 10mm ammunition. He only carried four clips, had expended one and a half of them fighting, and 10mm was not an often-used chambering. Only by chance would he find any more 10mm. He pushed the activation switch that rested just above the handgrip of his Glock, the flashlight cutting the gloom like a sword through bamboo. Arbour did the same. "Oh, you scared the shit out of me..."  
  
"Come look at this, Constable. My God..."  
  
Alan edged towards the window of the ticket office, illuminating the inside.  
  
"Ah!" Alan paled as he saw the hideous stain of blood that swathed across the gray tile. It had been wiped from the front of the desk to across the floor, up the wall... and tracking into the roof. A roof panel had been knocked ajar... the trail disappeared into the dimness above.  
  
"What the fuck?"  
  
"Do you have any idea how many times I've heard that today?" Arbour asked.  
  
"I get the feeling it won't stop now. Something's wrong here, too... we have to get out... not safe here..." Alan backed up from the window, looking towards the stairs.  
  
"It's a little late for that!" Arbour shouted, lighting the way with his Glock as he passed the office by.  
  
"Where the hell are you going?"  
  
"Shut up and hide, Constable!" Arbour shoved open a door with the words AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY and held it open. "Come on!!"  
  
"Any targets?" The stifled voice rebounded down the stairs from above. The soldiers were back on their trail. Alan raced for the door, seeing the flashlight beams reflecting down the stairs.  
  
"Turn your flashlight off, don't make a sound." Arbour shut the door quietly, hugging one side of the door as Alan backed up against the other. They could hear the soldiers as they thumped down the stairs, bantering back and forth.  
  
"No targets here!"  
  
"You're sure you saw them come down here?"  
  
"Affirmative. They're here."  
  
"Eight! Report to HQ, something might be down here besides us and them."  
  
"Yes, sir." Alan heard the crackle of the radio receiving a signal. "HQ, this is operator Eight, from Team Three. Do you copy?"  
  
A muffled reply. "We were engaged upon insertion into the field, by two RPD S.W.A.T. officers. There was an exchange of gunfire, we lost four operators. Yes, four. Operators 4, 6, 7, and 9 are dead. No, the RPD escaped. We are currently in pursuit, into the subway. That's correct, sir. Ah? Oh..." The transmission paused, "Three! HQ needs your observations on the virus's effects." Footsteps knocked against the tile.  
  
"This is Three. I've taken some notes about the carriers and the virus. It appears that, even in this situation, the virus has responded as planned to the various DNA structures of the hosts. I have several theories on why this is... one, that the reason that virus hosts of the same physical structure do not attack each other because the virus can actually recognize another infected host. At least, in the case of human carriers. The second part of this is that the virus may be working off of a survival basis. The virus needs to continue it?s strain, so the virus only seeks out a healthy host. But the hosts have been perceived as needing to feed, as was ascertained by the earlier experiments, but maybe the virus is not fully in contact with the host. Possibly, the virus is telling the host that it needs to feed, whereas the virus itself is looking to continue it?s strain. But this is just a theory, most likely incorrect."  
  
"Well done. Continue your pursuit, and inform us of any developments in your research." Alan could barely make out the crackled reply. The radio was switched off.  
  
"All right, let's keep going down. They must be around somewhere." The footsteps spread out, then started going down the stairs.  
  
"Hold up team... let's check that door." A few of the footsteps came back up the stairs, from what Alan could tell. In the darkness, he cringed as one set of them came up the to the side of the door. The door opened a fraction, accosting a white beam of light that peeked inside, over the room's contents. Arbour held his breath, clutching his Glock to his body.  
  
"AAAAGGHH!!" One of the soldiers outside howled, the other soldiers yelling almost simultaneously.  
  
Operator Five cried out, his flashlight going astray. One turned, illuminating the disturbance, and the rest of the team followed, five beams flashing over the thrashing man. His hands clasped madly for his neck, his MP5 shaking wildly. Something unseen jerked him off of the ground, up into the air. One tilted his flashlight upwards.  
  
There was a limb, a tentacle, weaved around his gullet. It was raw, fleshy skin bruised a deep red, with splotches of sickening purple. The top of the tentacle disappeared into the darkness above, but One could see another part of the creature, probably the body. Through the hole in the tile, it was a pulsing mass of meat, something you'd expect to see in the depths of Hell.  
  
Five flailed uselessly in the grip of the tentacle, gurgling for air. The tentacle began to yank him upwards, foot by foot towards the hole in the roof.  
  
Eight fired first, a full blast from his MP5. The rounds slashed into the tentacle, taking chunks from the flesh. Something inside the roof wailed, squeezing harder on the squirming soldier. The cervical vertebrae began to grind together, splintering the bone. His head was now gone into the roof, his body slowly dragged behind it. It was about to feed. The mouth itself just looked like an abnormal lump of flesh, but the throbbing mass began to split apart and reveal teeth. Teeth so unfathomably vile, any normal human would have gone into shock.  
  
"Frag!!" Ten called, pulling the pin of his grenade and tossing it up into the roof. The team hit the floor, rolling or crawling as far away from the blast zone as possible. The frag blew, throwing shards of metal and tile. The flak shredded the creature, slicing it into chunks small enough to throw on the grill for up to five minutes on a medium heat with some Cajun seasoning.  
  
Appendages and pieces rained upon the downed soldiers, spraying the floor with red.  
  
"Team! Status?" One shouted, pulling his hands from his head.  
  
"Two here. Fuck, I'm gonna stab whoever threw that frag."  
  
"Keep it in check, Two! Who else?"  
  
"Three here."  
  
"Eight here."  
  
"Ten here."  
  
"Ten!! Did you throw that frag? You could've killed us all!" One stood and angrily approached the prone Ten.  
  
"I thought it was-"  
  
"In the best interest of the team, huh?" One yanked Ten up by his vest strap and looked through the roof. There was now a giant hole in the tiles, and they could see strips of pulpy flesh hanging from the patchwork of pipes and wires. The creature itself must have covered at least a few square meters, probably more. He could part of, or rather, a piece of, Five's remaining body. His upper body had been completely decimated by the grenade, leaving only lower torso and legs.  
  
"I've got a sample of the tissue, sir." Three announced, picking up a strip of the meat with tweezers and slipping it into a vial.  
  
"What the fuck for?" Two scoffed.  
  
"We're supposed to collect whatever B.O.W. material we can, Two. You know that."  
  
"Fuck that, I'm only concerned about killing these fucking RPD-"  
  
There was a clink-clink sound on the ground behind Two, and he turned around.  
  
There was a flash, and a massive sound eruption as the flashbang detonated. In the darkness, the light was even greater. And with all the Umbrellas so closely arranged, Arbour couldn't have done better. The concussion knocked Eight off of his feet, holding his ears and shouting. Three fell as well, Ten hitting the floor beside him. The only two standing were One and Two, and that changed very quickly.  
  
"Go!" Arbour stepped out of the room, Glock out and ready. He saw two of them fumbling to remain standing, with three floored.  
  
Alan came out beside Arbour, both of them dashing for the stairs. But not before Alan put in a hard shot to one of their faces, cracking him with the butt of the gun on the side of the head, dropping him to the floor. Arbour kneed the other in the stomach and pushed him down. The RPD could stay, take their weapons, they wouldn't be able to fight back-  
  
"Shit!" One of them grabbed his MP5 off of the floor and sprayed in their general direction, unable to clearly see. The bullets tracked across the wall at Alan, who abandoned his thoughts and dashed down the stairs with Arbour.  
  
"Fuck! That bitch pistol-whipped me in the head!" Two groaned, clutching the bloody wound.  
  
Alan and Sgt. Arbour skipped down the stairs in the confusion. They were far out of visual range, they were now only one flight of stairs away from the train boarding station. They turned on their Glock flashlights and looked down the stairs... they could see lights, dim ones.  
  
"Shit... I can't believe we made it past them." Alan leaned against the wall.  
  
"That was my last flashbang... you got some?"  
  
"I have two."  
  
"Good. We'll need them, I think."  
  
Alan moved down the stairs, his Glock extended. "They'll figure out where we got to, and they'll come and get us. We have to get the fuck outta here."  
  
"If we don't get on a train, we'll be screwed. We'll need to take it as far west as we can, to the lip of the suburbs... we'll find your wife, Constable." 


	6. State of Emergency- Chapter 6

The subway station was devoid of life, much like the previous levels of it had been. The Sgt. checked the left side, around the rows of pillars that stretched to the end of the hall, towards a maintenance door at the far end.  
  
The train itself was sitting still on the tracks, much like an animal in waiting for it's prey. Well, maybe not quite like that, Alan considered, more like some living vehicle, a whale, ready to whisk them off into the depths of the tunnels, and towards the suburbs. The lights insde flicked, the dim blue illumination showing the innards. Posters, advertisements across the roof and walls-  
  
"Ah?!" Arbour raised his Glock and hit the light, the beam casting across the side and throwing shadows.  
  
"What? Targets?" Alan checked his own zone with his Glock, lighting up the inside of the train, but not getting close. The lights of the train switched one once more, for a split-second. Near the front cabin, a hunched figure was visible, but only for that fleeting moment.  
  
Without answering, Arbour moved to the side of the train and peered inside. "You think the doors will open?" Arbour searched the edge of the sliding train doors for a switch.  
  
"Aren't they controlled automatically? From the cabin?"  
  
"There'll be a quick safety release, I guarantee it. Ah, here it is." At the bottom of the door was a small vertical handle, assumably for use if the automated doors wouldn't open. "Cover me while I open this." He holstered his Glock and gripped the handle.  
  
"Check." Alan watched as Sgt. Arbour yanked the handle. It didn't budge.  
  
"Oh, for fuck's sake." Arbour braced his feet against the side of the door and wrenched it open, falling backwards. He drew in a breath as a grasping zombie stumbled out from the train, his hands pawing at Arbour's legs. Arbour pulled them up and ferociously put his heel into it's forehead, pushing it back.  
  
"Uuuuaarrhh!!" The zombie, it's face imperceptible in the darkness, began crawling forward as Arbour stood, bringing his heel down once more. It smashed into the arc of the back of the skull, the bone giving way under Arbour's boot.  
  
"Fucking thing! Why didn't you shoot it?" Arbour brushed his pants off frantically.  
  
"Didn't want to waste ammo..."  
  
There was a ping sound behind them, echoing down the stairs. Arbour bristled.  
  
"Run for the cabin!" Arbour shouted, jumping inside as the frag bounced down the stairs. Alan wasted no time, leaping through the door and inside the train car just as it detonated. The shrapnel was thrown against the plexiglas window and the metal plating. Alan ducked instinctively as the flak hit the window, looking behind him.  
  
The train floor was littered with corpses. Men in coats and suits, with their hands limp on top of worn seats, blood stains swathed across the floor. Women in casual wear and dresses, with their clothes ripped and flesh exposed with bite marks and gaping wounds. Not to mention the children... Thank God there hadn't been many on the train.  
  
As the frag blew behind them, Arbour was already a few meters away from the door. When he reached the door to the cabin, a body on the floor lurched upwards and started walking. It was a bald man in a blue suit, his white dress shirt ripped and covered in red. His head lolled sickeningly on his shoulders, his throat open.  
  
"Get away!!' As the zombie latched it's cold hands on to Arbour's shoulders, Arbour put both hands on it's chest and kicked out one of it's legs, forcing it to the side. He pulled his Glock and fired, sending a 9mm into the fumbling zombie's head. It bashed through the yielding tissue, spraying coagulated fluid across the seat.  
  
Arbour looked out the window, his view partly impaired by the gore. They were coming down the stairs. "Idiots! They just don't quit! Constable, you keep them occupied, and I'll start this fucker up!" Arbour looked at the door of the cabin, seeing the light lock on the doorknob. He put three rounds into the bolt, and pushed the door aside, going into the cabin. "How do I start this thing?!"  
  
One fired a burst towards the blond-haired RPD in the train car, hitting the plexiglas. "Spread out!"  
  
The team split up amonst the thick cement pillars, waiting for a clean shot. The 9mm probably wouldn't punch the reinforced plexiglas unless they really pounded it. They didn't need to waste ammo.  
  
"Target?"  
  
"No targets in sight!!"  
  
"Eight!" One yelled towards Eight, his back to a cement pillar, the closest one to the open train door. "Prep a frag!"  
  
Eight pulled a grenade from his vest and peeked around the corner, towards the open doors. He waited for the command.  
  
"Frag!" Eight pulled the pin and was about to throw just as the lights above the door inside the train were shot out. Eight completely lost his visual on the door, tossing the frag blindly. "Fuck! Take cover!"  
  
The bad frag bounced under the train and on to the tracks, exploding harmlessly. With the only light sources coming from inside the train, and even those were at the far ends, neither side could get a visual on the other.  
  
Alan, on his elbows, crawling, quietly edged towards the door. His Glock holstered and MP510A2 out, he stole a view around the corner with the scope. He praised the gun gods for low-light sights. In crystal-clear blue, he could see the image of the commando that had thrown the frag, looking around cautiously. Alan let his crosshairs settle on the man's forehead, waiting for the perfect shot. The soldier stood, weapon up-  
  
and a well-placed 10mm hammered through his forehead. His cranium caved in, and the back of his head spewed fluids across the cement column. His body smacked wetly into the pillar, sliding down and leaving a thick trail.  
  
"Shit, man down!"  
  
The soldiers opened up on the train, laying waste to the hull. The bullets clanked and pinged off the plexiglas and steel as they tried to keep Alan down.  
  
The forward lights of the train turned on, flooding the tunnel ahead with white. The train hummed with power. "Yes!!" Alan hunched over and ran for the cabin door as the train hissed. "This mother fucker is moving!"  
  
Alan couldn't help but smile as he slid the cabin door closed behind him and pounded the wall with his fist.  
  
"Ha! They can fuckin' fend for themselves now! How did you manage to start it up?"  
  
Arbour pointed to a drawn diagram taped to the panel, depicting how to operate the train. "Looks like the previous driver didn't get it either."  
  
The train hurtled off into the tunnels.  
  
The soldiers ran forward, firing uselessly at the train. Number Three kicked over a trash can in frustration. Ten checked the downed Eight's body. His upper skull was almost gone...  
  
"What now?"  
  
"Don't know, Ten..." One cursed himself. How could he have let them get away? The whole operation was in danger now...  
  
"Hey! Where's Two?!" Three turned around with a wide-eyed gaze. 


End file.
